


I'll Be With You From Dusk Till Dawn

by whisperingwind



Series: epilepsy 'verse [16]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Circa 2013, Epilepsy, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Lies, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: “Harry?” Louis questions, expeditiously turning around, eyes narrowing as he studies the younger boy. Harry’s chin juts forward, a cry extracting itself. There's tension caught in Louis’ throat, voice quivering, “Harry, what's wrong?”Or, a what if scenario, the one where Harry never told Louis about his epilepsy.Title from "Dusk Till Dawn" by ZAYN





	I'll Be With You From Dusk Till Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was pitched by surisun, so thank you very much for sharing your idea with me. i still have a few requested prompts to work on, so don't fret if you haven't seen yours yet. 
> 
> as you'll notice, very quickly, this part of the verse doesn't align with the rest of the series, so feel free to read it as intended (as a "what if" scenario) or to disregard it completely. regardless, i hope you enjoy this part of the series and there's more writing coming soon. 
> 
> also pls note that if you witness someone having a seizure, you should not follow the course of action louis takes.
> 
> thank you!

The boys stand in a small circle, discussing their plans for the rest of the night, considering the plethora of scheduled interviews have finally ceased. It’s only six p.m., but the lads, Liam and Louis in particular, like their irresponsible partying to start early when they don’t have a working schedule for the next day.

“I think we’re gonna head back to hotel for the night,” Louis says, slinging his arm around Harry’s waist, tugging him closer. All the boys stare at him with bewildered expressions. He's always the first to pitch the idea of clubbing. “I need to catch up on sleep.”

“What?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief, “No partying for Tommo tonight? What are we supposed to do without you?” 

Louis chuckles, “You’ll have no choice but to make good decisions.”

“Yeah, right,” Zayn scoffs. His on again, off again relationship with his girlfriend Perrie is currently nonexistent - they’re taking a small break as she described it - and knowing Zayn’s personality and typically negligent character choices Louis knows he’s most likely going to use his freedom and charm to find himself a pretty one night stand. “I'm getting laid tonight.”

Harry stares at Zayn with a disapproving glint trapped in his eyes. He's geared towards more traditional, loyal relationships, but would never bother correcting his friend. He’s had Louis by his side for three years, therefore he doesn’t exactly recall what it’s like to indulge himself in random relationships for sexual pleasure. 

“Have fun with that,” Louis says, then adds, “I don't want the details.” 

Niall throws his head back with a hardy laugh. Though, Zayn doesn’t find his words to be nearly as humorous, elbowing Niall’s ribs until the blond stops laughing. 

“I'm tired,” Harry abruptly announces, sounding rather irritable, “Do you reckon we can go?”

Louis smiles, standing on his toes to press a kiss to Harry’s jaw, “Of course, baby,” he looks to the lads, “We’ll see you lads tomorrow. Have fun tonight,” he slides his arm away from Harry, and instead reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers. 

“Bye,” Harry mutters. Louis leads him through the corridor to the set of elevators. They wait for one of the lifts to crack open, then step inside, the doors encasing them. 

“Is there anything you wanted to do tonight?” Louis asks, leaning against the elevator as he watches Harry. “Maybe dinner? I heard there’s a really nice Italian place around here. Garlic bread sounds really good."  


The younger boy can hardly comprehend his boyfriend’s soft words as they begin to mold together, forming a string of mumbles. He swallows not once or twice, but three times, attempting to form words each time. Verbal interaction is suddenly becoming difficult for him to engage in. “Uh, no, no I'm alright.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t feel comfortable with the uncertainty in Harry’s tone.  “You okay? You look a little pale, love.”

“It's kinda- it’s, um, it’s hot in here,” Harry mutters, bracing himself against the wall of the elevator, “Just a little- just a little uncomfortable.”

It's not hot in the elevator, not even a little, but Louis doesn't argue with him. “Right,” he says instead, taking a step closer to inspect Harry’s complexion, “God, you're sweating buckets. Maybe you’re coming down with something. Would explain why you’ve been grouchy all day.”

Harry can feel his body weakening the longer he stands and while he knows what's plausible, he hopes, prays, it’ll go away on its own, or he'll be able to excuse himself long enough to care for himself once they step off the lift.

The only problem is the elevator dings, indicating they’re descending down to the first floor, but then the lights begin to briskly flicker on and off, and the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, nearly causing both of them to lose their balance. “What the fuck was that?” Louis asks, his eyes darting to the elevator buttons. None of them are bright anymore. He spastically presses the ground level button, hoping it’ll react and give them access to the first floor. “I think the elevator’s stuck.” 

Harry’s eyes widen, “What?” he blurts. 

“It’ll be okay,” Louis promises, pressing the buttons a few more times. They still don’t light up. “I’m sure people are working right now to fix it,” he encourages. 

Tingling begins to attack the right side of Harry’s body and he chokes on a moan, forcing it to dissolve in his throat. He shuts his eyes, clenching his teeth, his molars involuntarily grind together. 

At this time, Harry genuinely wishes he hadn’t ever lied to Louis, or rather actually spoke of the miserable seizure disorder he has. It isn’t as though he never had an opportunity to be honest, instead he was too afraid to ever make mention of his life-altering condition. He didn’t want to scare Louis into yearning to leave him. It’s not as severe of a condition as it could be, but he does face grand-mal seizures, though not often.

Louis has his back turned to him, using his fist to bang against the metal doors, expecting to alert someone with his rambunctious noise. 

Another moan builds in Harry’s throat, but he’s unable to contain it this time. It loudly expels out of his mouth, coercing him to throw his head back against the elevator wall. 

“Harry?” Louis questions, expeditiously turning around, eyes narrowing as he studies the younger boy. Harry’s chin juts forward, a cry extracting itself. There's tension caught in Louis’ throat, voice quivering, “Harry, what's wrong?”

The younger boy doesn't say anything, attempting to steady himself with a hand plastered to the walls of the elevator. His complexion is worrisome - lacking a flesh tone and rather replaced with a sickly green color - and it appears as though his entire body is being drained of its poise and strength. 

“Harry, love?” Louis asks, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. His muscles are pulled taut, clenched. “Harry? What’s the matter? We’ll be off the elevator soon, relax. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Harry’s mouth fall agape, his eyes slowly fixating down at his crotch, coercing Louis to do the same. When Louis looks down, he sees a stain gradually expanding from his crotch, to his thighs, down his legs, dripping onto the elevator floor. A shot of pure confusion rushes through him - did his nineteen year old boyfriend seriously piss himself? 

Louis keeps his hand on Harry’s shoulder because blatantly something isn’t right. There’s something wrong with this situation, with his boyfriend, but he hasn’t a clue what as his boyfriend isn’t verbal and is hardly coherent. “Harry look at me, what’s wrong?” he asks, trying to find focus on Harry’s eyes. His face is no longer a sickly green color, rather his skin appears to be a startling grey hue, almost monochrome, and his lips have taken a blue tint. His eyes lack their bright green color, instead appearing greyer in color as well. 

Harry tries to talk, but his lips droop and his words come out incorrectly enunciated. Louis can’t make any sense of it. He stands on his toes, touching Harry’s face with the back of his hand. Instantly, he’s greeted with a clammy and hot sensation, prickling against his own skin. He studies Harry’s face and eyes, not relishing in the fact that he appears more dead than alive. Saliva uncontrollably slips past his lips, smearing against his chin, and dribbling onto the front of his shirt. 

“Harry?” Louis calls again, hoping to receive a response from the younger lad.

But he doesn’t receive even as much as a verbal acknowledgement, instead Harry’s knees buckle, forcing him to stumble forward, then he’s falling, head smacking off the railing in the elevator on the floor, and smashing against the floor with enough impact to shake the entire lift. “Oh my God!” Louis shouts, hand folded over his mouth, eyes wide. He’s frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do. Rather than moving forward to help his boyfriend, his first instinct is to move back, squeezing himself into a corner of the elevator. 

It doesn’t dawn on him that Harry needs help until he sees the huge gash diagonally sliced against his forehead. There’s a lot of blood seeping out of the wound, more blood than Louis has ever seen in person. He cautiously approaches Harry, sliding down to his knees. He puts a hand on Harry’s back. The brunet yelps at the contact, scaring Louis into retracting his hand. “I- oh my God,” Louis mumbles upon seeing the wound close up. His stomach is clenched, sensing that he might very well lose his lunch, but before he even dreams of it, Harry vomits all over the floor of the elevator, coughing as he does so. Sick splashes against his clothes, the walls, and Louis’ jeans. “I- I don’t- what’s…” Louis shakes his head, eyes burning with impending tears. He hasn’t a clue what’s going on and to be frank, he’s never been so scared in his life. He’s never seen anyone in such a predicament, never mind his boyfriend, whom he loves more than anything. “I’ll call 911, let me call for help,” he utters, reaching for his phone whilst keeping his eyes trained on Harry. “I’ll get you some help, love.” 

The younger boy is on his back, uncoordinatedly thrown against the floor much like a rag-doll. Louis clutches the cold metal device in his hand and tries dialing for emergency help, but the call won’t go through, as there doesn’t seem to be service in the elevator. 

He swallows, nervously, setting his phone down once more, and reaches to cup Harry’s face, “It’s- it’s gonna,” he stops with a sigh, attempting to meet his eyes, “You’re gonna be okay.” There’s no focus or emotion in Harry’s eyes. 

The situation doesn’t take an actual psychological toll on Louis until Harry begins to repetitively groan, straining the veins in his neck and forehead as he does so, then he consequently starts to convulse, limbs spasming in oddly timed intervals. The shaking begins in his right leg and expands, eventually spanning over every part of Harry’s body until he’s a withering mess. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as his groans intensify, an indication of just how hard he’s seizing. His fingers and toes curl inward, appearing as claws, as the tension builds in his entire body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis rapidly whispers, body turning completely numb. He tries holding Harry’s shoulders down to calm him, but the spasming is much too strong in comparison to Louis’ weak grip. “No baby, don’t do this to me, don’t do this,” he whispers, terrified of what’s going to happen next. He knows this is a seizure - he has basic knowledge about them from TV shows as well as a health class in school - but has no idea how to apply proper first aid. “C’mon Harry, please don’t do this to me, I don’t- what do I do? Love I- fuck, I don’t…” his voice breaks as he defenselessly stares at his boyfriend. 

Harry’s pupils and irises are gone, rolled back into his head. All Louis can see are the whites of eyes. There’s blood infused in his saliva, spilling between his lips, and dripping down the sides of his mouth. Louis has never in his life been so scared. He has a looming thought of doom. Harry’s going to die. Harry’s going to die in front of him, injured, incoherent, and there isn’t a thing he can do about it. 

“I-” Louis’ body doubles over a sob. “I- please don’t die, Harry, please. I can’t- I don’t want to see you die, please come out of it, love, please.” 

The younger boy’s head turns, repeatedly smacking off the floor, and Louis makes the executive decision of sliding his hand under Harry’s head, fingers cradling his scalp to cushion the impact. The groaning turns into high pitched whimpering. “Shh baby please, please stop shaking, please,” Louis begs. “You can’t die on me, okay? You’ve- you have to stop seizing for me, baby, I need you to come back.” 

Harry’s arm curves at the elbow, hooking over his torso, body still spasming, as his body roughly buckles against the floor. A certain smell fills the small elevator, one that doesn’t pertain to vomit nor urine, and a bout of pity crosses over Louis, tugging at his chest, but he disregards the fact that Harry has lost control of his excretory system because he doesn’t even know if he’s going to live past this. 

His breathing, or lack of, is terrifying. Louis doesn’t know if people stop breathing during seizures or if Harry really is dying on the floor in front of him. He tries only once to clear Harry’s mouth with his fingers until realizing he could injure him mid-seizure. While Louis tries to blink his tears away all he does is cause them to squeeze past his eyelids and streak his cheeks. He sniffles, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “It’s gonna be okay, Harry, shh, you’re gonna be okay. I need you to come back to me, please, I know you’re strong enough to.” 

Louis doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, the seizing begins to slow until it completely halts. The weight on Louis’ chest begins decrease, but he’s still terrified of the chance of another seizure occurring or Harry experiencing something worse. 

Harry vomits again following the decline of the seizure, this time on the front of his clothing, and Louis watches him with nervous eyes. His pupils and irises come back into sight, but there’s absolutely no focus, as they lethargically wander. There’s still twitching in his face, mostly located in his nose, and his lips quiver. “Harry?” Louis asks, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. “Love, can you hear me?” 

Instead of answering, he vomits again, though there’s hardly anything left in his stomach, instead coercing him to dry heave. He turns his head slightly, staring at the wall with a blank expression, and expels a loud moan, reaching down for his crotch, fingering the buttons of his jeans. “Hey,” Louis whispers, pulling his hand away from his private parts, “Relax, shh, it’s okay. I’ve gotta get you some help,” He reaches for his phone, attempting to dial 911 again, but the service is no better than it was before. “Fuck.” 

Harry has drool everywhere, most likely a result from his mouth hanging open and his tongue lapping inside his mouth. Louis unzips his hoodie, pulling the dark grey material off his body, and uses it to wipe Harry’s mouth. “Uh, la,” Harry mutters, confused.

“Mhm,” Louis hums, pretending he understands, then presses his hoodie to the large laceration across Harry’s forehead, “We’ve gotta get you to the hospital, love. You’ve gotta stay awake for me.”

Two minutes later, the elevator doors are pried open and there’s a crowd of people standing outside, including firefighters and paramedics, who mostly likely worked together to open the elevator. “We need help in here,” Louis calls to them, tears streaking his cheeks “He had a seizure.” 

In no time at all, the medics trot closer to them. At the presence of new people, Harry shrinks into himself, whimpering. “You’re alright,” Louis says, stroking his cheek, “They just wanna help.”

“Does he have a seizure disorder?” One of the medics, the woman, asks as her partners prep a backboard and neck brace for Harry. Louis has to turn his head away as they load him on it because they’re a little too rough and it takes everything in Louis not to snap at them. 

The medics then lift the secured backboard onto a gurney. “No, I’ve never seen him have a seizure before,” Louis says, arms crossed over his chest, watching Harry with worried eyes, “He kind of- he didn’t look very well, right? So, he stumbled and hit his head, maybe it provoked the seizure, I don’t really know.” 

Harry’s nose begins to run as he lays flat on his back, so Louis uses the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe away the snot. “There we go, I’ve got it.”

“So no history of seizure then,” the lady clarifies, jotting it down in a small notebook, “and medication, does he take anything? Either prescription or recreational?” 

“No, neither,” Louis answers, biting his lip, “Can I ride in the ambulance with him?” 

The woman opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off by the other medics, “He’s seizing again,” one of them calls, “A much smaller one though, maybe a complex partial.”

Louis’ stomach drops, clenching with anxiety once again. He glances down at Harry, swallowing thickly, and brushes Harry’s hair off his face as he twitches, “You’ve gotta make it through this for me, love. It’s gonna be alright.” 

“We need to get him to the hospital to run tests,” The woman finally says, “and if he crashes again we need to have room to work. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to follow in your own vehicle.” 

As much as Louis wants to stay by Harry’s side, he also knows he needs to do whatever is best for him and if it’s letting the medics take over, then so be it. 

 

 

 

 

Louis is sat in the waiting room for about an hour before a doctor comes out to speak with him. “Good afternoon, you must be Louis,” he greets, offering his hand, “I’m Dr. Akers.” 

Louis shakes his hand, nervously bouncing his knee as he sits, “How is he?” 

Dr. Akers says, “Harry is going to be just fine. The laceration on his head should heal just fine, but there is a complication with his shoulder. It appears to have been dislocated, which could have been a result of either the fall or being held down during the seizure, but in a few weeks, it will heal. I’ll have a nurse fit him for a sling later today.” 

Relief washes over Louis. “Did you figure out what happened? What provoked the seizure?” he asks, cluelessly. 

“I’ve spoken to Harry about today’s events and I think you’ll need to have a discussion with him to really gauge what happened,” Dr. Akers explains, “He’s awake right now and doing rather well. He’s very coherent.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Isn’t it your job to tell me what’s happened to my friend?” 

“I think it’s best that you hear it from Harry,” Dr. Akers presses, “He’s in room 222. If there’s anything else I can do for you one of the nurses will page me.” The doctor dismisses himself, leaving Louis to his own thoughts, without as much as a hint of explanation.

There are a lot of confusing thoughts circulating his mind right now. Why would a doctor leave a serious topic to their patient to explain? 

Nevertheless, he stands, walks to the end of the hall, and rides the elevator to Harry’s floor, proceeding to find his room. 

Harry’s sat up in bed, cup of water on his nightstand, I.V. in his hand, and bandages plastered to his forehead. “Hey,” Louis says, softly, entering the room. The younger boy glances at him, exhausted expression washed over his face. “How are you feeling?” 

“Been better,” Harry replies. Upon walking closer to him, Louis notices a scattering of bruises on his face and arms, “How are you?” 

Louis forces a laugh, “Been better,” he says, “Don’t ever wanna see you like that again. 

Harry looks away from him with a dreary expression. “Oh,” he whispers.

“What shoulder is it?” Louis asks, changing the subject. Harry’s thankful for it.

“Right one,” Harry answers, touching the curve of it with his left hand, “Hurts like a bitch.” 

With this information, Louis sits on Harry’s left side, in case he’s tempted to touch him. He doesn’t want to aggravate his injury. “You know,” Louis hesitates for a moment, “The doctor told me I had to ask you about what happened, why is that?” 

“Oh,” Harry says, peering down at his hospital gown. He continues by saying something unintelligible. 

Louis cranes his neck forward. “What did you say?” 

Harry shakes his head, “Forget it.” 

“No, you’re keeping something from me,” Louis points out, narrowing his eyes, “Tell me the truth, Harry.”

“I- well I, I have epilepsy,” Harry answers, hesitantly meeting Louis’ eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

All the feeling and color in Louis’ face drains as a result of Harry’s confession. “You have- you have epilepsy? Since when?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows, “You mean to tell me seizures are a regular occurrence for you?”

“Since I was four,” Harry mutters, picking at the flimsy puke green hospital attire, “and they’re not regular. I don’t have big ones like the one you saw very often just when I’m off my meds or I don’t get enough sleep.” 

Louis doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything.

“I should have told you, I know that. I know I should have explained it to you, but I was scared you weren’t gonna wanna be with me anymore. It’s not exactly the most flattering thing,” Harry says. Louis still doesn’t speak, burying his face in his hands. “And I- I understand if you don’t wanna be with me anymore. I can’t even imagine what I put you through today, Louis, and I’m sorry. You must hate me, I know I would. I’m a terrible-”

“Stop talking,” Louis interrupts, pulling his face away from his hands, “Firstly, I could never bring myself to hate you. Secondly, yeah, lying to me about your medical condition for three years isn’t acceptable and it’s gonna take me some time to forgive you for that, but I still love you. I hate that you actually thought I would leave you over something like that.” 

“It’s just- how can you love someone who falls on the floor and pisses and shits all over themselves? What’s attractive about that?” Harry asks. 

Louis sighs, “You have a medical condition, love. I- I can’t possibly be mad at you for it. I’m not gonna lie and say that it didn’t scare me because it did,” he says, shaking his head at the horrendous memory of Harry shaking and being unable to breathe, “I thought you were dying, Harry, and I- if you would have, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Epilepsy isn’t a death sentence,” Harry argues, “I’ve had it for fifteen years and I’m okay, maybe a little shaky, but I’m okay.” 

“Does anyone else know?” Louis asks. 

Harry shakes his head, “Only people that know are my family and some of the tour staff. Had to tell them in case I had a seizure and hurt myself.” 

“So, the boys don’t know either?” 

“Never had the heart to tell any of you,” Harry says, truthfully, “People look at you differently when they know you have medical problems.” 

Louis nods as though he understands. He supposes he’s never been around someone with a persistent medical problem, therefore he’s never really seen discrimination or poor behavior towards it. He reaches for Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers, “When was your last big one? Is that even right? To call it that?”

“They're called Tonic Clonic seizures,” Harry corrects, meeting Louis’ eyes. “My last big one...you remember when my mum and Gemma came to the show in Miami?”

“Last month?” Louis asks for confirmation. 

“Yeah, last month,” Harry answers, hesitating for a second. His injured arm stays tucked against his torso. “Had a huge one when we went to dinner. Mum had to call 911 for the last one too because I hit my head so hard. She said I wasn't coming out of it and I was acting absolutely delirious.” 

Suddenly, Harry’s absence from their tour bus last month makes sense. “That's why you were late for the show in Louisville.”

“Yeah, had to have an MRI,” Harry says, then sighs, “Like I said they don't happen too often, usually six or seven of them a year,” he explains, “but I do have other types of seizures as well, just not as severe as the Tonic Clonic ones. You've probably seen me have hundreds of absences, but didn't realize it.” 

“Okay…” Louis says, slowly, “What is an absence?” 

“You know like, like sometimes I’ll stare off for a few seconds and ignore you when you're obviously talking to me?” he asks.

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

“Those are absence seizures. Just a lapse in awareness. Sometimes they happen in the middle of conversation,” he explains further, “I have anywhere from ten to forty, sometimes more, of those in a day.”

“In one day?” Louis asks, bewildered. 

Harry offers him a weak smile. “They're common and relatively harmless.” 

“Okay,” Louis deeply inhales. This is a lot of information, but he needs to understand it, “Can I ask you what I’m supposed to do if you have another one of those- um, what are they called again? Tone something?”

“Tonic Clonic,” Harry corrects, “You can call them grand-mals if that's easier to remember or some people call them massive fits, it's really up to you. I don't get offended by the different names for them.” 

Louis repeats, “Tonic Clonic, okay. What am I supposed to do if you have one of those? Do I always have to call for an ambulance?”

“No, you only have to call for an ambulance if I’ve injured myself or hit my head,” Harry says, then adds, “Technically you’re also supposed to call if I’ve gone over five minutes or if I stop and start again without regaining consciousness but I’ve only had one severe one like that and that was- God, I don't know, five years ago?”

Louis questions the reality of this situation. How can his boyfriend really have such a severe disorder? How did he not know when the signs were as clear? “So if I don’t have to call for an ambulance, how do I help you?” 

“Well, I’ve got to be on my side because I tend to throw up a lot during my seizures and personally, I don’t think choking to death on it sounds very appealing,” Harry explains. There’s a joking manner in his voice, despite the horrific actuality of the situation. Louis doesn’t know how Harry can manage to sound so unbothered, “and you can’t hold me down. I know you don’t have any experience with seizures but my shoulder is dislocated because you tried to hold me down, but it’s not your fault. I should have told you.” 

“I’ll remember not to do that,” Louis says.

“Also, you can’t put things in my mouth. It could be dangerous for both of us and even if you read it somewhere, it’s impossible for me to swallow my tongue. The worst thing that’s gonna happen is vomit and saliva will accumulate overtime and if that happens, you just have to tilt my head, help drain it out,” Harry explains, “If you can find a pillow or clothes in time, you’ll want to bundle those under my head, just so I don’t hit my head off the floor.” 

Louis nods, “I used my hand, is that okay?” 

“That’s fine as long as you’re not constricting me in anyway,” Harry replies, “Also, if you could do me a favor and just find something to cover my legs with. I hate when I piss myself and I don’t want anyone to see, it's embarrassing. I think, or well, I hope you can understand.” 

Louis hesitates when he asks, “Why do you?” 

“Why do I piss myself?” Harry asks, a tad harsher than he intends to. Louis nods. “There’s a lot of pressure on my bladder during seizures, so it causes incontinence. Same thing with my large intestine,” he says, then adds, “I tend to be very incoherent after my seizures, which I’m sure you saw today, and depending on the severity it can take, sometimes, a few days for me to bounce back. That's normal. A lot of the time I struggle to talk and I’m too weak to sit up, so you've just gotta be patient, which you are. I know you are.” 

Louis offers him a weak smile, refusing to say anything. 

“It's a lot to take in, I know that,” Harry says, then sighs, “and I also know if- if you're uncomfortable with my medical issues then you have every right to walk away,” His voice sounds weak, perhaps a bit sad, and he looks down at his hospital gown.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, cupping his face, “Love look at me, I'm not gonna walk away. I love you and if loving every part of you means understanding your epilepsy, then I'm okay with that.” 

“Do you really mean that?” 

“Of course I do,” Louis whispers. He kisses his cheek. “Now, I'm curious. What's the worst seizure you've ever had?”

Harry thinks for a moment, “Uh, I was about fifteen, had a massive one at a funeral. Fell onto a entire row of people and twisted my ankle in the process. Ended up with a broken ankle, a severe concussion, and my teeth going through my bottom lip.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows, “I can’t imagine how this must be for you, Harry. I’m really sorry, love,” he squeezes his hand, then brings it up to his lips to kiss, “I wish you would have told me sooner. I would’ve been there whenever you needed me.”

A nurse walks into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, “I’m afraid visiting hours are over, but you can come back as soon as they open in the morning, at 8.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, dumbfounded, “I thought he was getting discharged tonight.” 

The nurse offers him a weak smile, “His doctor is suggesting he’ll be sent home tomorrow evening, as long as his test results show no change.” 

“Test results? What kind of tests did you run?” Louis asks, glancing towards Harry. Harry shrugs his shoulders as he’s used to the typical hospital routine. Seizure, injury, hospital admittance, MRI, sometimes X-rays, a scattering of EEG testing, doctors urging him to be more cautious, then discharge. Though, he didn’t mention anything about having to be tested to Louis. 

“Just a standard MRI, sir. Based on the information Harry gave, there was really no reason for him to experience such a large seizure. His medication is up to date and he said he’s felt well rested. We just wanted to ensure everything in his scans looked as it should.” 

Harry reaches for Louis’ arm, squeezing his biceps, “They just want to make sure I didn’t hurt my head when I fell, love. I have a history with concussions.” 

“Seriously?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, dryly, “Tends to happen when you have uncontrolled spasms,” he looks to the nurse, disregarding Louis, “Sorry, what was your name?” 

“Meredith,” she answers.

“Ah, Meredith,” he repeats, desiring to remember it, “Meredith, are you going to change these dressings? Feels like I’m starting to bleed again.” 

Louis’ eyes fixate on the bandages plastered to Harry’s head. Thick crimson is beginning to seep through the sterile white. 

“Of course,” Meredith says.

Harry’s lips purse together. “Pity, figured it was your job to observe,” he mutters, sounding rather snarky, “You must be new, yeah?”

Louis has no idea where the sudden mood change has come from because moments ago Harry was fine, perhaps struggling at times to string words together, but he didn't come across as rude.

Meredith raises her eyebrows. “No I- no, I’ve been here for about a year,” Meredith raises her eyebrows.

“Well then aren’t you gonna do the bloody thing you’re paid to do?” Harry asks, abrasively, “Or are you another one of those medical personnel who doesn’t know what their fucking priorities are?”

“Of course, of course, let me change your dressings, Mr. Styles,” Meredith mutters, “I’m extremely sorry.” 

“I don’t need your apologies,” Harry snaps, “I need you to do your job.” 

“Harry, stop,” Louis scolds, “She’s trying to help you, would you relax?”

Harry scoffs, “Why don’t you just get the fuck out?” he asks, coldly, “She told you to leave, so leave, get the fuck out.” 

“Harry?” Louis asks, absolutely baffled. 

Harry turns his head away from him, “I’m fucking serious, go away. Leave me the fuck alone.” 

Meredith drops her focus to the floor, waiting for Harry to calm down before saying, “Mood swings after seizures are common, part of the postictal symptoms.” 

Louis nods as though he understands. He doesn’t, not really, in fact he doesn’t comprehend half of what Harry spewed to him today. How is he supposed to? After all, he hardly understands what epilepsy is and now his boyfriend is telling he has it, there’s nothing he can do to fix it, and he’s acting atrociously. 

“I see,” Louis mutters, reaching over Harry, who’s back is turned to him, to brush his hair off of his face. Harry shoves his hand off, accidentally jarring his shoulder, and chokes on a groan. “Easy, take it easy. I know you’re pissed off, but you don’t need to be injuring yourself any further. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Don’t bother,” Harry hisses, “I don’t need you here.” 

Louis sighs, “Whatever, Harry. Call me when you find a new personality,” he steps away from him, squeezing Meredith’s shoulder as he departs, “Good luck.” 

She doesn’t say a word, instead forces a smile. Louis wants to tell her to not waste her time.

 

 

 

 

Louis wakes in the middle of the night to his phone blaring its irritating ringtone. He decides against answering it - after all it’s probably two in the morning and whatever it is can wait - until it rings for a second time. 

He briefly wonders if it’s the boys as they were calling all night long after hearing about Harry being rushed the hospital. Of course, Louis didn’t tell them specific details - only said Harry took a fall when the elevator slammed to a stop - because he doesn’t feel as though it’s his responsibility to spread Harry’s personal business. 

It isn’t until it rings for a third consecutive time he realizes it must be urgent. He doesn’t recognize the number, but answers anyway. “This better be important,” he grumbles, his voice raspy.

“L…” the voice breaks, “Lou?” As soon as the voice becomes clear, Louis realizes it’s Harry. 

“Did you find a better personality?” Louis asks, unimpressed. “Look Harry I don’t-”

Harry groans. A noise very similar to the one made in the elevator early that night, followed by a series of dry heaving. Then the receiver is pulled away from him as he retches, Louis can tell by the sound of hyperventilation and splashing as the sick projects out of his mouth and onto some unidentified surface. “Harry?” Louis calls, sitting up, frustration instantly draining out of him, “Harry? Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I-” Harry wheezes. “I think- I ha- had a se-” his voice cuts out.

Louis’ heart slams into his throat. He immediately stands, eyes frantically search the room. “A what, love? What’s the matter?”

“A s…” his words are beginning to run together, sounding extremely slurred, “Had a s- a seize..”

“A seizure?” Louis asks, panicked. He pulls on a pair of track pants on with one hand, stumbling over his legs as he shuffles through dirty clothes to find a shirt. “You think you had a seizure, love? Harry?” 

Harry whimpers. “I- I w- wet myself,” he inhales, but there must be an abundance of saliva because Louis can hear him struggling to breathe, “wet, wet myself.” 

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s no big deal, baby,” Louis promises, sliding his shoes on, and shoving the hotel room door open. He slams it shut behind him, “Do me a favor, okay? I need you to press the button beside your bed. You’ve gotta get yourself some help, love.” 

“Wet,” Harry mutters. 

“I know, babes, but it’s okay. One of the nice nurses can help you change your sheets, but you need their help first. Will you please press the button by your bed?” he pleads, riding the elevator to ground level. 

“‘Kay, Lou,” Harry mumbles.

Louis rushes out of the lift and to the front doors of the elevator. “You pressed the button?”

“Mhm,” 

“Good love, that’s really good,” Louis says, searching the lot for his car. He finds it seconds later, feeling his stomach relax, until he hears Harry vomit again, “Are you hurt?” 

“Shoulder,” Harry groans, “S- sorry.” 

Louis climbs into his car, wasting no time in starting it and racing out of the lot, “It’s alright. Does anything beside your shoulder hurt?”

Harry hesitates, then there’s nothing. “Harry?” The line goes dead. Louis attempts to call back, but no one answers and he remains silent as he drives the rest of the way to the hospital. 

He parks in the designated area, then quickly guides himself through the otherwise relaxed hospital setting. Once outside Harry’s room, a nurse stops him from entering, “Visiting hours are over.” 

“Yeah,” he exhales, struggling to regain his composure from his dash through infinite corridors, “yeah I know, but Harry called- he called me, said he thought he had another seizure, is he okay?” 

The nurse places his hand on Louis’ shoulder, “Cluster seizures aren’t uncommon, especially if it’s due to an error in prescription. In Harry’s case, it seems his level of anticonvulsant medication was too high, indicating doses taken too close together.” 

“What does that mean?” Louis asks.

The nurse sighs, “He has almost twice the amount of medication in his system than he should have. It was most likely a matter of forgetfulness. Too much medication is as bad as not enough.” 

Louis swallows, “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Harry is expected to be just fine,” the nurse says, “I’m not supposed to allow this, but if you’d like to sit with him for a few minutes, then you may.”

“Thank you so much,” Louis gushes, then carefully steps into the room. Harry looks exhausted, his face a discolored hue of grey, and hair absolutely unruly, “Hey,” Louis greets, approaching the bed, “Are you feeling better?” 

Harry peers at him, then proceeds to look away, shaking his head. 

Louis sits down beside his bed, brushing his hair off his forehead, “You scared me, love,” he whispers, stroking his head, “but I’m glad you called, like to know what's going on.”

“I- I wet…” Harry slurs, blatantly distraught and confused, barely able to produce a cohesive thought. 

“I know, it's okay,” Louis coos, locking on his discolored eyes, “How are you feeling? You don't look like you feel very well.” 

Harry doesn't say anything, struggling to focus on Louis. He starts fidgeting, indicating he doesn't want Louis touching him any longer. Louis pulls his hand away, resting it on his lap. 

“Head,” Harry mumbles, “‘s fuz- fuzzy.” 

Louis touches his cheek, cradling it in his palm, “I bet it is,” he whispers, “I think they're gonna make me leave soon, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want for the morning?” 

Harry narrows his eyes at Louis, studying him, “I- uhm,” he sighs, “n- no.” 

“Okay,” Louis hushes, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead, “I'll be back first thing in the morning, baby. I love you,” he mutters against his flesh, “I love you so much.” 

“Love?” Harry asks, gazing at him, intent engraved in his features. 

Louis smiles, confirming, “Love, I love you very much,” he kisses his head again, “I'll be back first thing in the morning, okay?” 

Harry nods, turning his head away as though the last few minutes never occurred.

 

 

 

 

Louis knocks on Harry’s door, allows a few seconds to pass, then enters, barring a bouquet of pink dyed carnations. 

Harry slowly brings his eyes up to fixate on Louis, then the flowers, “Those for me?”

“Of course,” he smiles, approaching Harry, “I know how much you love your pink,” he sits down beside his bed, then places the bouquet on Harry’s lap, “How are you feeling?”

Harry rubs the pad of his thumb over one of the soft pink tinted petals. “Threw up a few more times,” he mutters, “Think I might have had another seizure in my sleep.” 

“You had one at about 2:30 this morning,” Louis says. Harry stares at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “Called me in a panic, but when I got here, you were okay, just struggling with your speech.” 

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, “Don't remember, sorry.”

“It's alright,” Louis places his hand on Harry’s covered thigh. With this movement, his eyes are drawn to Harry’s arm, which is tucked against his chest in a sling. “One of the nurses said you might have torn some ligaments in your shoulder, but you're still expected to make a full recovery.”

Harry nods, glancing down at the flowers again, “They're really pretty.” 

“Thought you would enjoy them,” Louis says, reaching for Harry’s hand, and intertwines their fingers, “Is there anything I can grab for you? A cup of coffee, maybe. I can go to the bakery and get you a bagel.” 

“Appreciate it, but I’m still a little sick to my stomach,” Harry admits, stroking the stem of one of the flowers, “They have to do some EEG testing before they discharge me.” 

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “EEG?” 

“You ever see in the movies and stuff where people have wires attached to their head and they’re hooked up to a machine?” Harry asks, nonchalant. 

“Yeah,” Louis stops, then says, “You’re gonna have that done?” Harry nods. “Why?” 

“They want to compare my brain waves now to my brain waves a few months ago. It’s no big deal. They’ll test my reactions to a few things like increased caffeine intake and flashing lights, since I’m not light sensitive.” 

Louis reaches for the flowers, taking them away from his boyfriend’s grip and setting them on the bedside table. “Why would they want to provoke a seizure?” 

“They’ll be minor seizures, love. Like absences,” Harry replies, “It’s not anything I’m not used to. Like I told you, I’ve had epilepsy since I was four, it's not a big deal.”

Louis sighs, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry echoes, “After that testing, I’ll be able to go home, hopefully I won't have to come back anytime soon.”

Louis sits beside Harry’s bed, mostly silent, as they both fixate their attention to the television playing in the corner of the room. Eventually, a nurse comes around to help situate Harry, applying a gritty substance on his forehead, before sticking adhesives to reinforce the small, metal discs to his head. “The neurologist will be with you soon,” she says, dismissing herself from the room.

“This is quite a look,” Louis jokes, staring at the wires looping around Harry’s head.

Harry raises his eyebrows, “You think? Maybe it'll be my new stage costume.” 

Louis laughs, shaking his head. He doesn't say a word. The neurologist comes inside, introduces herself as Dr. Bogue, and explains the EEG process to Harry, though she seems to concentrate more on aiding Louis into understanding. 

“Alright, Mr. Styles, you're going to close your eyes for me,” she instructs, turning a dial on the machine which will track Harry’s brain waves, “I need you to lay back, relax, take deep breaths. I'm sure you understand the length of this process.”

Louis watches Harry do as he’s asked, ankles crossed, one over the other, with a worried expression spanned across his face. 

Harry slightly tilts his head back, chin extended upward, The only noises erupt from Harry’s deep breathing pattern and the scribbling of pen on paper as Dr. Bogue jots down notes. “Okay, Mr. Styles, open your eyes,” she directs, holding a light in front of his face, “I'm going to rapidly flash this light to test your reaction, If, at any point, you begin to feel unwell, tell me to stop, okay?” 

“Sure,” Harry answers, focusing on the penlight.

The doctor presses the button on the end cap of the light, coercing it to abruptly flash on and off. Harry’s brain waves pick up slightly, but not enough to cause a sense of alarm. Louis sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You're doing great, Mr. Styles,” Dr. Bogue encourages, “Now I’m going to have you read a paragraph from this booklet,” she says, handing over a thin brochure, filled with basic epilepsy information, “Go ahead and read the first paragraph.” 

Harry scans over the lines a few times before beginning to recite them, “Epilepsy is a medical condition where a person has reoccurring unprovoked seizures. Having a single seizure doesn't mean-” he stops, abruptly.

“Doesn't mean what?” Dr. Bogue pushes.

His eyes widen as they focus on something across the room. Louis furrows his eyebrows, looking towards where Harry is looking. There's nothing there. It isn't until the waves on the EEG begin to rapidly beep increase in speed Louis understands he's experiencing a seizure.

Harry’s face is expressionless. A slight tic has formed in his lower jaw as it uncontrollably twitches, his mouth opening and closing in random intervals. “Mr. Styles?” the doctor asks, touching his shoulder, “Mr. Styles, are you alright?” 

About fifteen seconds pass, then Harry returns to reciting the paragraph as though nothing interrupted him. After witnessing the spike in the brain waves and Harry’s behavior, Louis realizes he’s seen Harry do exactly that many times, but figured it was daydreaming instead of a seizure.    


Dr. Bogue doesn’t mention it to him, rather jots down the seizure activity on her chart. She goes through several more activities with Harry - having him complete simple calculations, change his breathing rate, and increase his caffeine intake with a cup of coffee - and Louis watches Harry clock out another eight times. 

The process ceases and Dr. Bogue sends a nurse in to unattach all of the wires. “Your doctor will be around with the discharge papers soon,” she says, offering them a smile. Once they’re in the clear and all the medical personnel are out, Louis turns his body to face Harry, reaching for his hand. “How does it feel when you do that?” 

“Do what?” Harry asks, tilting his head slightly, confused.

“When you have absence seizures, what does it feel like?” Louis asks, meeting his eyes, “You had at least ten of them.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Did I?” he glances down at their intertwined hands. His hand is trembling in Louis’ grip. “I don't- ten of them?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, “You don't remember?”

“No, they only last for about ten to fifteen seconds, so there's no lasting effects, and she was provoking them anyways,” Harry explains, “It's like- I don't know, I can't really explain it. You’d have to have one to really understand and I hope you never do.” 

Louis touches Harry’s face, cradling his cheek, “I'm sorry you have them, love. I wish I could make you feel better.” 

“It's okay, I’ve been having them for a long time, Louis.” 

It's not okay, not really, but Louis doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to invalidate Harry. The two of them sit in silence, Louis rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, until the doctor comes around with Harry’s discharge forms.

Harry walks a bit slow, but Louis doesn't rush him, patiently pacing him beside him, “How's your shoulder feel?” he asks, eyes gravitating towards the sling. 

“It's sore, but as long as I don't move it the wrong way, it feels fine,” Harry answers. Louis holds the door open for him, allowing him to walk past him, out to the parking lot, where the two of them rejoin and step to the car. “I know you probably feel guilty about it, but I don't want you to. I could have died, y’know? Without you there, I- I would have died, so thank you.” 

Louis doesn't know what to say. “I- um, you're welcome,” he mutters, holding the passenger door open. Harry slides into the car and Louis shuts the door after him. 

After they're sat in the car on their way back to the hotel room, Louis glances over at him, “What's the worst injury you've ever had?”

“Worst injury?” Harry repeats, then stops, thinking for a moment, “Oh, I pinched a nerve in my neck one time, couldn't move it for weeks, absolutely horrific.” 

Louis nods, eyes trained on the road. Harry has never made him feel awkward, but in this moment, he doesn't know what to say.

They drive the rest of the way without speaking and even when they walk into the hotel, ride the elevator to their floor, and search for their room, they don't talk. 

Louis unlocks the door and waiting for them inside are their three band mates, spread across their room. Niall and Liam sit on their bed while Zayn smokes a cigarette, elongated across the couch provided in the room, despite it being against hotel policy to do so.  


“What the fuck happened?” Liam blurts, upon seeing the bandages plastered to Harry’s forehead and his arm in a sling. He stands from the bed and approaches Harry, Niall and Zayn following suit. 

“I-” Harry starts to say.

Liam grabs his chin, forcing his head up, “And you're bruised too,” he notes, recognizing the dark colors splattered across the side of his face, “What happened to you?”

Harry glances at Louis, as if silently asking for advice, and in return, Louis shakes his head, peering down at his feet.

“I- um, I think we should sit down and talk,” Harry suggests, walking over to the couch where he sits on the arm, feet planted into the floor. The lads all exchange a look of confusion, but follow, sitting in the spaces available. “I- I don't know how well you guys are gonna take this, so maybe I should just come right out and say it,” he stops, taking a deep breath, “I have epilepsy.”

“Epilepsy?” Niall asks, misunderstanding laced in his thick brogue, “What the hell is that?”

Zayn, on the other hand, widens his eyes, holding his cigarette away from his face, “Epilepsy,” he repeats, “Like seizures and shit?”

Louis sits on the arm of the couch beside Harry, placing his hand on top of his knee. 

“Yeah, like seizures,” Harry answers. 

“So your injuries-” Liam waggles his finger at Harry, drawing more attention to his self-sustained injuries- “they're from a seizure?”

“Yeah.”

“And- and you just got diagnosed with epilepsy? This was your first seizure?” Liam asks.

Harry clears his throat, “Um, no. I've had- I’ve been epileptic since I was a kid.”

Zayn takes a quick drag of his cigarette, uncertain of what to say. In fact, nobody says anything, an odd silence passes over them, until Niall finally says, “Why didn't you tell us? We've know you for three years and- and you've lied to us for all this time. We could've helped you." 

“You're hurt and I get that, but I didn't tell you because I didn’t know what you would say,” Harry admits, “I thought maybe you wouldn't want me around. It's- it’s a hassle, I know that, and this far, I've been able to control it, keep it out of the spotlight, away from you guys.” 

Liam hesitates, “You didn't have to. We would've been there for you for whatever you needed. It- it didn't need to come to this. Look at you, you're a mess, maybe we could have-”

“No,” Harry interrupts, “There was nothing you could have done. I didn't feel it coming on, I didn't have any sort of aura, and by the time it was going to happen, it was too late. And I feel so unbelievably guilty for putting my boyfriend through that,” Louis shakes his head, sucking his lip between his teeth, “I couldn't imagine putting all of you through it.”

“What's an aura?” Niall asks.

Harry looks at him, “Sometimes I smell or taste things that aren’t there. It usually means I’m about to have a pretty massive seizure.” 

They share a similar talk to the one Louis had with Harry in the hospital room, though not as in depth, since some things deserve to remain between lovers. The lads decide to leave the room to allow Harry time to rest and once they’ve vanished, Harry and Louis lay in bed together, facing one another, Harry keeping pressure off his bad arm. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Louis says, locking on Harry’s eyes, “You know that don’t you? You and me, we’ll be alright.” 

“I feel better now that you know, feels like the weight's been lifted off my chest,” Harry admits, swallowing thickly. 

Louis touches his cheek. “You could have told me a long time ago and nothing would have changed. I love you very much, Harry, and  _ nothing _ will ever change the way I feel about you.”

Harry presses his face into Louis’ touch, “I know that now. Thank you,” he whispers, “Thank you so much for being supportive and loving me through these last couple days. I’ve never loved someone so much.” 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Louis repeats. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips, “Now get some rest. Sleep will help you heal faster.” 

“Is that a proven fact?” 

“Yes,” Louis dips his head, “of course it is.” 

“Because you said so?”

“Because I said so,” Louis agrees.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> hopefully y'all enjoyed it. as always, feel free to leave me story suggestions below - even if they don't pertain to epilepsy verse - or on my tumblr (troubleistheonlywaydown.tumblr.com). also, feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!) and i have a curious cat now if you want to hmu on that (https://curiouscat.me/terrestrialhaz). thank you for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, all that jazz. have a great day/night! huge love and cheers. emily. x
> 
> p.s. let me know if you think this should be apart of the verse or if it should be its own one shot


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